


The Impala Prompt - A Fluffy Castiel Drabble

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Fluffy drabble based on the item/object prompt: The Impala





	

Castiel absentmindedly thumbed the pages of a lore book, his striking blue eyes meandering over the library shelves, reflecting not the warm lamplight, but utter boredom. It was nights like this - nights without a case in sight, nights when you and Sam and Dean retired early to your beds for much deserved sleep, nights with clipped wings confining him to the bunker - that the angel felt burdened by the weight of existence at a human pace. And that was saying a lot considering he’d already lived several billion years as a servant of heavenly purpose. And for all the claims that heavenly justice comes swiftly, it actually is not swift at all, but at least it’s certainly more all-encompassing than living heartbeat to heartbeat.

He pressed his eyes closed, listening intently. He could hear your gentle breathing, sense the pleasant dream playing out in your mind, picture your peaceful drowsing figure in the comfortable bed where he’d left you after you’d sunk deep into the realm of sleep. He’d be by your side again before you woke in the morning and you’d be no more the wiser to his nightly wanderings through the bunker, happy in the selfish idea he’d spent the night by your side. His focus moved to Sam, finding the younger Winchester also in the clutches of sleep, caught up in a sultry dream about a certain woman he’d known and their black and white dog. The angel directed his ears to Dean, unsure of what he would discover. Dean had a tendency to lose sleep over just about everything - live out all the anxieties and failures of the day, and his life in general, while fitfully unconscious. Tonight, Dean was in a thankfully dreamless sleep, breathing evenly, abrasively loud music blaring from his headphones.

Cas clapped the book shut, laying it face down on the table, pushing it disinterestedly away. He stood, making his way to the hall, feet guiding him toward the darkened garage. As he approached the stairwell, a minute gesture of his hand flipped on the overhead lights. He found himself standing before the Impala, head cocked, squinting, arms swaying limply at his sides, unsure of why exactly he’d come. Free will still had a way of sneaking up on the fallen angel from time to time.

He stared at the perfectly rubbed wax sheen of the paint, studied his distorted reflection in the hood, observed the white hot burn of the gleaming chrome finishes. And without thinking, found his fingers opening the driver door, sitting and carefully tucking his trench coat across his lap as he slammed the door.

Brow furrowed with concentration, his eyes flew shut, ears perking up, listening again. Dean was so connected to this car - his baby - surely he would feel some disturbance in the force with the seraph sitting in the driver seat, completely uninvited.

Dean groaned, tossing and turning for several minutes, yet ultimately remained asleep.

Cas’ lids opened, the cobalt orbs taking on a mischievous twinkle. Without looking, his fingers moved to the visor, retrieving the keys as he’d so often observed Dean do, hand hovering over the ignition, a rebellious smile creeping to his lips.

“You really are a rebel,” you cooed, folding your arms across the passenger window and poking your head into the car with a smirk.

Cas twisted his neck to face you, widening eyes the only sign you’d caught him totally off guard.

“It’s super sexy by the way,” your grin grew in unison with the angel’s pink flushed cheeks.

“You were asleep,” he glanced down nervously, jaw tensing, before again meeting your gaze.

“I was, and then I was awake, funny thing we humans do,” you shrugged nonchalantly, straightening up to open the door and climb into the vehicle with him. Your fingers skimmed admiringly over the dashboard, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever ridden shotgun in this car.” Your eyes fell expectantly back on the angel.

“I…,” Cas began to stutter an apology about having abandoned you in bed.

You could instantly see it in his features, and you didn’t want an apology, you’d known for months that he left after you fell asleep. How could you realistically expect him to lay there all night, wide awake, doting over your unconscious body? You could not imagine a relationship where that was healthy for either of you long-term, and after all, even angelic patience had its limits. You reached out a hand to squeeze his knee, “It’s okay, I know you don’t stay all night. But you weren’t in your usual haunts, so I went looking.”

“I’m not certain why I came to the garage,” he confessed, focus shifting to peer through the windshield.

“I am,” you jostled his knee with a knowing giggle, “you have an acquired taste for rule-breaking, my angel. You’ve got the itch. I’ve noticed it radiating off you for weeks. And what is more defiant that taking Dean’s baby out for a spin without permission?” You observed his jaw set, eyes beaming. You buckled the seat belt across your waist, giving him a final push, “Like I said, I’ve never ridden shotgun in this car. Seems like something that would be fun to do once, or twice. Or three times even.”

Cas turned to you, nodding, blue eyes narrowing impishly, positively shimmering as he cranked the ignition and released the clutch. Consequences be damned.


End file.
